I am a traveller at the gate of time,
and still the way is barred against ny quest.
I pluck my lyre: unlease a mighty rhyme -
until the frame vibrated at my breast,
and yet the ivy-riven locks stand fast
that hold from me my dead Eurydice.
Now anger comes to strike a chord at last
a faultless note to set my loved one free.
Down endless stairs of coral and of glass:
undaunted by the wail of Hades' Court
entwined by hellish pathenons of brass:
I played for them the best of all my thought.
They granted me her life as minstral's cost
But I looked back: and all with her, was lost.
An old poem from the archives. The first sonnet I wrote, which
dates it to around 1981.